Returning to my bike, I strap on the head gear and throw a leg over my pride and joy. This bike was basically scrap when I first got my hands on it, but now, it gleams in the parking lot spotlight, and the engine runs smoother than any other one here.

“You good to go now?”

Zoey nods, hands resting on my shoulders while she climbs on. I rev the bike to life. The engine purrs, vibrating through my limbs, more soothing than a massage chair.

For the first time in a long while, a warm body presses into my back.

Did it always feel this good to have a woman riding with me?

Wouldn’t I have offered more rides if it had?

Maybe it’s just Zoey. Knowing that the chest cushioned against my shoulder blades is hers, same with the arms twining around my middle. And, hell, those perfectly shaped thighs are the ones cupping my own legs. Plus, that extra bit of heat soaking into my lower back is from her⁠—

I shake my head, trying to focus on guiding my bike out onto the dark road toward town. If I let thoughts of Zoey’s body wrapped around mine take up too much of my concentration, we might end up careening into a ditch on the side of the road.

At least, if that happens, we’re both wearing helmets.

5

ZOEY

The Wild Rabbit sits on a corner of Main Street, alight with a warm glow and inviting laughter that spills out the front door as a couple exits, hand in hand. Above the door hangs a sign with the name and a hand-painted bunny, balancing a serving tray with a frothy mug of beer.

This atmosphere makes sense for a crochet group. Still, I can’t help but wonder how the dynamic would be different if a group of women claimed half of The Rabbit Hole every Wednesday night to drink and stitch and gossip.

Would the atmosphere be tense? Or would the night end with the crocheters handing the bikers their asses at the pool tables?

I guess we’ll never know.

The bike rocks as Warner parks it along the curb and pushes out the kickstand.

The man is a good driver. After the helmet issue, I was worried. But he kept to the speed limit, used his signals, and made it an all-around smooth ride. That, combined with the vibration of the bike between my legs and the comforting heat radiating off his back, had my lady parts taking all sorts of notice.

Which is ridiculous. I’ve known the guy for maybe thirty minutes.

“You want to head inside? If not, we can go for a longer ride.” The biker smiles at me over his shoulder.

At his suggestion, I realize I’ve been silently admiring Warner’s driving skills while we sit on a now-dormant motorcycle.